


only then I am human, only then I am clean

by knightinbrightfeathers



Series: daemon au [2]
Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Daemon Touching, Daemons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:10:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3105140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinbrightfeathers/pseuds/knightinbrightfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baz meets Lyra Belacqua.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only then I am human, only then I am clean

Take me to church  
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies  
I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife  
Offer me that deathless death  
Good God, let me give you my life.

-Take Me to Church, Hozier

 

The first time Baz hears about the knife, he’s sitting in front of the officiator from Simon’s initiation ceremony, who introduces herself as Lyra Belacqua, and her daemon as Pantailamon. It’s a horrible, terrible thing, and Baz has gone though enough of those in his life- even before the Humdrum- to know. Still, he can feel Sol grip his shoulder tight.  
“I’m telling you this because you and I are both in a… special situation,” Belacqua says. Her pine marten daemon makes eye contact with Sol. Baz hands her off his shoulder and Pantailamon murmurs in her ear, and suddenly a flood of information passes through them. This woman had the first hand in taking down the church; she can separate from her daemon- “And you’re human?” Baz asks.  
“Completely,” Belacqua says, smile sad. “I went somewhere where Pan couldn’t go and I had to leave him behind.”  
“How?” Baz asks. Sol can fly far from him, but when she does he misses her. Like someone pulling your finger, not painfully but so you feel the tension of your body holding on to it.  
“I had help. Friends. Someone who cared and was going through the same. A reason to keep going.” Belacqua nods at his expression, and hers doesn’t shift from the soft, knowing smile. “Yes, someone like you have Simon, I believe, except he had to… go.”  
“And what do you need from me?” Baz asks, after an awkward pause.  
“You’re rebuilding the Church,” Belacqua says.  
Baz doesn’t bat an eye. He’s not surprised that she knows how deep he is, how influential the Pitches are, though even Simon doesn’t really understand.  
“Do you want us to stop? Because we won’t,” Sol says. “We’re doing good.”  
“I agree, and I wouldn’t stop you for the world. No, I need to work with you. More to the point- with you and Mr. Snow. Don’t,” she says, holding up a hand when he frowns. “Watford needs help, which is Mage Snow’s mission, and the Church needs guidance and prodding, which is yours. I have friends- friends, not contacts, people who know me and my story- everywhere. Even, and I know you don’t believe me, even angels. You don’t have to believe me. But I want to help you uproot the poison left in Watford and the Church, and make sure that the ties between them are weakened enough that nothing bad passes between them ever again. The ties are stronger than you think.”  
“Did you prepare that speech?” Baz asks.  
Belacqua grins, and suddenly Baz believes everything she says. He’s seen that kind of determination and hope n another pair of eyes. “Maybe.”  
“Sol, what do you say?” Baz lifts an eyebrow.  
“I say we can work something out,” Solestina says.  
“Good.” Pantailamon pushes a letter across the table. Baz never saw it appear, which is impressive. They must be a _good_ mage. “Give Mr. Snow this, please. It’s our request. We’ll need to be a bit more formal with him.”  
“Simon doesn’t really do formal,” Baz says with a smirk. “I’ll give him your phone number.”  
It’s a joke, but Belacqua exchanges a glance with her daemon and nods. “Give me your phone.” She enters a number on Baz’s Android and slides it across the table. “Good day, Basilton, Solestina. Excuse us, we have people to visit. Enjoy the chocolatl, they don’t skimp here.”  
The number is entered under Lyra Silvertongue. Baz shakes his head, disbelieving, and Sol says, “Silvertongue sounds familiar. Wasn’t she involved in the situation with the panserbjorne a few years back?”  
“Looks like Ms. Belacqua has her fingers in a lot of pies, Sol.” Baz stands and Solestina flies to sit on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go home.”  
—-  
“Mage initiation officiator, friend of the armored bears, powerful in the Church…” Simon runs a hand through his hair. “Plus, Pen says Agatha says Lyra Belacqua has made multiple donations to different charities and travels across the world for no reason anyone can figure out, almost at random.”  
“We’re going to call her,” Erko says, and Simon nods.  
“Of course we are.”  
Baz sighs. Even after all this time, he can’t get over Simon’s instinctual trust in some people- and how he’s always, always right. “Tomorrow. You’ve done enough today.”  
“But, Baz, the paperwork.” Simon flops onto the couch. “There’s so much of it, and all of it’s important, and half of it is dangerous, and-” He stops when Baz straddles him and claps two hands over his mouth.  
“Hush. You need to eat and sleep.”  
“Actually sleep, or…?” Simon asks, prying Baz’s hands from his mouth.  
“That too,” Baz says, and stand up again so quickly that Simon leans forward along with the motion (although perhaps that has nothing to do with the speed). “Food first. You always fall asleep after sex.”  
“I didn’t last night,” Simon says, a trifle smugly, and Baz whacks him on the head.  
“That doesn’t count,” he hisses, but the scowl on his face is belied by Sol flapping over to perch on Erko.  
—-  
“Why should I trust you, Lyra?” Simon asks, after an hour-long conversation in the Mage’s office. Baz keeps swearing he’ll have it redecorated from Oriental-Baroque-Antique Shop-Mix-and-Match, but they’re both busy these days and meanwhile the office functions. It’s in use every day, even though the tapestries are hideous. (“And who even has tapestries, it’s worse than my grandmother’s peacock wallpaper,” Baz said once, and took in Simon’s shocked expression and took him to meet Grandma Pitch.)  
“Because you already do,” Lyra says. “I’m an excellent liar, but you already know that, yet I haven’t lied to you except for once, which you also know.”  
Simon blinks. “What.”  
“Otter daemons are very rare, did you know? Your school grades are good, your tactics are excellent even if your strategy is lacking, and you’re brave, resourceful, quick to see the good in everyone, of a naturally cheerful disposition, and you like Jammy Dodgers, all of which I learned from the althiometer or from research, except for the cookies.” Lyra pointed at the tiny overflowing trash can in the corner, which held two empty biscuit boxes.  
Simon snorted, and Erko gave her high trilling otter’s laugh. “You remind me of Baz.”  
“I think I reminded him of you. That’s why he trusted me so quickly.”  
Simon blushed. “I don’t deserve that kind of trust.”  
Lyra patted his hand. “That’s not how it works. It just happens.”  
Simon took hold of her hand. “What was his name?”  
“Will.” Lyra hesitated. “And his daemon’s name was Kirjava. You know, Basilton didn’t ask.”  
“Baz is polite,” Simon said, and Lyra grinned.  
“I think we’ll get along fine,” she said.  
—-  
“You know there are worlds without magic?” Baz said wonderingly. “No Humdrum. No merwolves.”  
“No vampires?” Simon asked.  
Baz nodded.  
“No you, then,” Simon murmured, pressing a kiss to Baz’s cheek.  
—-  
“The knife is gone- at least, any trace of it I could find in this world is.” Lyra looks at Simon pointedly.  
“But you couldn’t find the Mage’s Sword, because only I can summon it,” Simon says, nodding. “It can’t cut everything, though, and I’m pretty sure it can’t cut into a different world.”  
“I’m certain it can’t,” Lyra says. She sounds very certain. “I would like to see it anyways. We have a feeling about it.” Pan nods seriously.  
Now that Simon’s the Mage, he can summon the sword at will. Simon’s hand goes to his waist and comes up with the sword.  
“Lyra-” Pan says.  
“I know.” Lyra tucks her hair behind her ear and leans forward. “We need to talk.”  
—-  
“It’s another responsibility,” Simon says. He doesn’t say it’s a big responsibility, because that’s obvious; he doesn’t say that it frightens him or that it worries him or that it weighs on him, because so many things do. He doesn’t say that he needs to bury the sword’s meaning deep or that they need to spread awareness about its true abilities (not the knife, but close enough that he shook when he told Baz. Baz held him and shook with him.) The sword will disappear with Simon, just as the Mage’s bloodline will die with him.  
“It is,” Baz says, and again, a hundred things go unspoken.  
Simon rubs his eyes, dry and burning because he couldn’t cry, could only tremble and shake, and wipes Baz’s face, which is wet.  
Baz catches his hand and kisses it. Erko slides onto Baz’s shoulders and Sol nestles into the crook of Simon’s knee, and the weight in the room shifts into something else.  
—-  
“If they cut- if they ever,” Simon says, voice soft in Baz’s ear and very warm.  
“I wouldn’t let them, ever,” Baz says fiercely, Sol shrilling in agreement, a peregrine’s war cry.  
“Shut up. If anyone did, if they- someone- found out about the sword, it wouldn’t matter, because Erko and I are yours and Sol’s, and they can’t cut through all of that, they wouldn’t understand it at all.”  
Baz reaches out to stroke Erko, nestled at the head of the bed with Sol. “No, they wouldn’t.”  
“None of us do,” Sol says, and Erko finishes- “But it doesn’t matter.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title and quote from "Take Me To Church" by Hozier.


End file.
